


Shadows

by superagentwolf



Series: Deleted Scenes [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Chris Argent, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Stiles Helps Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek turns to Stiles for help. It's just one of the stranger parts of Stiles' life.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows

Scott is even more MIA than usual due to his mom taking him out of town for a week. Even without his new found “over Allison” attitude, Scott’s still spending more and more time away from Stiles. There isn’t much Stiles can do about it since he understands the whole “space and time” concept- hell, he’d just watched Lydia de-transmogrify her boyfriend and apparent true love- but sometimes it kind of sucks to be the superhero’s powerless sidekick.

In any case, Stiles has been spending most of his time alone in a room that reeks of stale sheets and too much Adderall. Stiles’ father is out almost 24/7 for some department stuff that seems more like tedious paperwork than anything else. The summer nights spin on.

The glass dream catcher hanging on the post of the bed by his pillow glimmers mockingly in bright colors. Stiles hasn’t been able to sleep and his mind is burning itself alive consuming every detail of the world around him.

Never in his life would Stiles have thought he’d be happy to see Derek creeping through the window at one in the morning.

“Dude. Seriously?”

Derek ignores Stiles in favor of assuming his big-bad-wolf stance, glaring at the teen with obviously unamused eyes.

“There’s something in the woods behind my house,” Derek says, and he makes a face even as he says it because it sounds pretty silly.

“What, like vampires?” Stiles widens his eyes a little, leaning forward in pretend fear. Although, finding vampires would be pretty damn cool. Or maybe not. Stiles has enough with just werewolves tossing him around like a human beanbag.

“No, idiot,” Derek snorts, and Stiles has to wonder if it hurts the guy’s face to stay scrunched up like that all the time. “Something else.”

Stiles nods noncommittally, waving a hand aimlessly in the air. When Derek doesn’t open his mouth again Stiles groans, digging the heels of his palms into his burned-awake eyes.

“And? You can’t just ask Peter to use his monster dictionary to look it up? What is _it_? Do you even know?”

Derek rolls his eyes in the way that says _,_ _you’re asking too many questions, Stiles,_ but fuck him. Derek doesn’t _say_ anything, _ever_ , and Stiles may be good but he’s not _that_ good. He can’t go on cryptic statements and glare-y green-brown-grey-blue eyes (which are technically probably hazel) alone. So yes, Stiles asks a hella lot of questions, but only because Derek is pretty fucking _lost_ without them.

_Jesus, I’m in a bad mood. I need sleep._

“If I knew, would I be here?” Derek’s condescending, annoyed tone is sharp. Stiles ignores it because that’s just Derek’s default tone when talking to him and there’s just no way this is going to change. “And Peter isn’t here. He’s been gone for almost a week now.”

“What, and you can’t turn a page, princess?” Stiles shoots back, and it’s more reflex than wit now because he seriously _is_ exhausted, but Derek is either willfully ignoring that fact or he’s just not paying attention to his wolfy senses.

Stiles hates being this, like the third-call-girlfriend when the wife _and_ the ex are out of town. Scott and Peter are not here and Derek is simply biting the bullet coming here and (not really) asking Stiles for help. _I’m a fucking booty call,_ Stiles thinks, mildly horrified.

But there _is_ something guarded, something worn down in the way that Derek stands, and Stiles thinks that maybe the jackass _has_ kind of been through the wringer. They _both_ have, and maybe all the damn subtext and stinging wounds aren’t what matter right now. What matters is that Derek Hale is here, now, and he is asking Stiles for help.

“Start from the beginning.”

 

* * *

 

So Stiles comes up with theories, _many_ theories, because apparently Derek has pretty much no information at all to go on and really he was only being hyper-cautious after the whole Jackson fiasco. By the end of a whole day and night spent awake and researching, Derek is surprisingly not hostile as Stiles explains things.

It’s almost _civil_ the way Derek listens and perches like an oversized bird on the windowsill. Stiles is starting to have a mild panic attack. Or maybe it’s hysteria. Or both.

“We need to catch it,” Derek says abruptly, rising from his spot with the ironic grace that all werewolves seemed to sport. Stiles raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond, trying to enjoy the fact that Derek is cooperating instead of shoving him against walls and slamming his head against hard objects.

Stiles’ mind promptly takes a trip south until he cuts the engine on that particular train of thought, vaguely disturbed but too tired to care.

“Yeah. We have nothing to go on here. It’s our only option right now,” Stiles mutters, falling limply to his bed, burning eyes fixed on the ceiling. Derek doesn’t respond, and Stiles turns his head to see the wolf staring at a fixed spot on the far wall, a pensive expression gracing his brooding features. Derek opens his mouth for a moment but shuts it just as quickly, turning back to the window.

“Tomorrow, then.”

 _Huh. That was weird,_ Stiles thinks to himself as the werewolf escapes silently out the window.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, they had ended up here- miles away from the Hale house and crouching in an abandoned garage.

Stiles had met with Derek and the _thing_ must’ve known they were coming because it moved fast. Before Derek could even talk about a plan he had been thrown out the back door with the sound of splintering wood and rage. Stiles, the human, hadn’t seen anything but a black, shadowy blur. The blur had started to disappear and Stiles had followed it on foot, glad to be wearing his red running shoes. The night air bit at his exposed face, chilling his nose and lips and burning his already tired eyes.

The thing is taunting Stiles, running just slow enough for him to keep it in sight but too fast for him to even attempt to catch. When they get to the edge of town Stiles is getting desperate, fervently hoping the creature won’t start wreaking havoc on the clueless humans of Beacon Hills. Derek suddenly catches up to them, running, trying to get to Stiles.

Stiles’ thumb is wavering over the keypad of his phone as he tries to calm his beating heart. Chris Argent’s number is stored on his speed dial- no one knows, not Scott, not Allison, surely not Derek. This is something that Stiles had done because he knew it needed to be done and he knew that no one would like it. Hell, _he_ doesn’t like it all that much- but this kind of thing goes beyond his loyalty.

While Stiles would jump in front of a moving train for Scott (which is probably stupid, considering the whole werewolf thing), he is only human. Stiles is stubbornly human and his only weapons are his mind and a silver baseball bat.

The number is dialed quickly and Stiles doesn’t think of the consequences it will bring upon him if Derek were to catch up and hear any of the conversation. Argent picks up after three rings.

“Stiles,” Argent’s voice is rough around the edges, something that has always called to Stiles in his tone. Something about Chris reminds Stiles of someone, or something, but his inability to recall the memory leaves him frustratingly unsure around the man. “What are you running from?”

Stiles smiles at the question. One of the reasons he actually likes Argent is his uncanny perceptiveness.

“Not sure. It’s in town, but it’s not going after anything yet. Just watch out. We’ll take care of it if we can. I don’t think it’s got a point, it just likes fucking around with us,” Stiles adds venomously, tightening his grip on the bat in his right hand. He can almost see Argent’s swift nod, the controlled way he’ll be moving around the room, gathering weapons. “It’s like a shadow. It can look like a person, but- it’s vague. Like the kind of face you see and then forget right after.”

The thing is making its way into an old car garage and Stiles feels dread weigh like a knot of metal in the pit of his stomach. Images of a kanima and his car moving slowly swim through his mind, a bitter taste rising to his tongue.

“I gotta go,” Stiles says quickly, glancing at the street signs and firing the address at Argent before hanging up.

Derek is still at least three blocks away but Stiles walks to the door anyways, shifting the baseball bat to his shoulder cautiously. The garage is dark, almost pitch-black, and Stiles silently curses his human eyes. He crouches by a broken desk at the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

“Stiiiiiles.” Dark laughter bounces around the walls of the empty garage, echoing eerily against the aluminum walls.

 _God, I hate this thing,_ Stiles thinks to himself uselessly, mostly trying to distract himself from the rushing blood in his ears. Whatever “it” is, it certainly likes Stiles. The voice is feminine but Stiles is pretty sure that gender doesn’t apply to the shadow creature. Whatever it is, it’s most likely able to roam- that much is apparent from its midnight jog. It couldn’t possibly be a spirit and it’s obviously not a werewolf, kanima, or any version thereof.

_Well, at least I know what it’s not. Like that helps._

Stiles makes his way further into the garage, ducking into a small office. There’s a small squeak from the main doors and Stiles holds his breath, sure that Derek has just entered.

“Stiiiiles. Where are you, Stiles?” The voice is playful, almost flirting- under any other circumstance, he would certainly be running towards a girl talking to him like this. Except this thing isn’t a girl. And it would probably kill him once it got a hold of him.

 _Wait. How does it know my name?_ Laughter echoes through the abandoned building, making it impossible to guess _where_ the thing is.

“Good boy, Stiles. Asking all the right questions. I knew I liked you for a reason,” the voice says, and it is followed by more laughter. _Fuck. It better not know where I am. Or where Derek is._

“Stop thinking of him,” the voice snaps angrily, and Stiles holds his breath, trying not to think of anything. It’s nearly impossible but he can hear his heartbeat and he concentrates on it as much as possible. The thing outside is moving- he can hear its raspy footsteps like it’s dragging its feet (if it has any) across the cement floor. Stiles can see Derek’s shoes from under the broken desk and he fervently tries not to think about what he’s seeing.

The desk is ripped away by a shadow that suddenly stands before it and Derek is already crouching defensively, roaring angrily at the thing. It’s strange, the way that Stiles can look at it all day and never be able to recount its features. It’s _average_ , nothing about it standing out but the fact that it seems to be a reflection or a shadow of something else.

“You’re distracting Stiles,” the voice hisses, and Derek lunges, not one for talking. The thing _bends_ , its body contorting around the space where an angry werewolf has just jumped. Stiles tries to concentrate on nothing, taking the thing’s distraction as an opportunity to sneak up. Derek sees him moving and immediately tries to attack the thing again, but it knows his pattern (or lack of one) and it easily swats him back and against the concrete. Stiles sees something blue in its shadowy hand and he forgets his empty-minded mantra for a moment. _NO._

The creature whips around for a moment but Stiles is already swinging his bat in a deadly arc. Apparently surprising the thing is the best way to catch it while it’s solid because it lets out an unearthly shriek before crumpling against the wall. Stiles moves to put himself in front of Derek, still unsure as to how to fight the thing. _Why the hell am I protecting the werewolf? I’m a freakin’ human!_

The sound of a car engine roars outside and Stiles’ heart stops for a moment. _Fuck- Argent._ Stiles knows the man isn’t stupid, but he is walking in knowing absolutely nothing about the situation. The thing cackles as it moves swiftly to the doors, not as quick as before but angrier than ever.

“HEY!” Stiles yells after the creature, running to meet it without thinking.

Argent bursts through the doors, all business and guns. He doesn’t bat an eye at the creature approaching him even when his bullets have no effect. _Fuck. This is so not happening. How do you STOP this thing?_

The shadow creature lifts Argent by his neck, growling inhumanly, but it’s forgotten about Stiles again. Some part of Stiles felt sick knowing what he’s doing but another part really doesn’t care. He swings the bat again, this time _aiming_ for the thing’s head.

The _crack_ it makes is going to keep him up for nights. _Great. Just when I need sleep the most._

Derek is suddenly running towards him, a sharp piece of steel undoubtedly torn from the walls in his hands. Argent is coughing harshly, reaching for a gun. The creature looks as if it might finally be immobile, but Stiles grips his bat with cautious hands.

There’s a word, a noise, something none of them would remember later. It is harsh, angry, despairing.

Stiles feels the bottom of his stomach fall, the weightless feeling before missing a stair engulfing him so suddenly that his vision swims. He doesn’t feel anything push or pull, but his feet are suddenly in the air, and he dimly wonders why he’s seeing a horizontal view of his own body for a split second before he hits the concrete.

The pain flares at each point of contact- head, back, shoulders. He can’t breathe for a moment, the air knocked out of his lungs haphazardly and black spots clouding his vision.

Stiles hears his name but he can’t respond. There is another roar and a miasma of black shadow tearing itself apart as his lips part, desperate for air. Argent’s blue-grey eyes are suddenly swimming above him and Stiles blinks, the pain radiating through his limbs painfully.

“Stiles. Can you move?” there is that voice again. The one he can’t place.

“He was just flipped into the air before hitting the concrete,” Derek says tightly, and Stiles almost laughs at the man’s words. _He kinda sounds like me._ _Except he doesn’t say the snarky part, you can just hear it in his voice._ Argent ignores the werewolf, fingers experimentally probing the back of Stiles’ head.

“No blood, thankfully. I think he tensed before he hit. Like he knew it was coming,” Argent says, amusement and appreciation coloring his words.

“Oh yeah. I typically end up like this on a _good_ night,” Stiles finally says, wheezing painfully as he tries to get up. “Especially when Derek’s around to do the throwing and shoving.”

“That so.” Argent’s cold eyes are appraising the werewolf with something akin to murderous intent, which is a huge step backwards, and Stiles immediately regrets his comment.

“Whoa, hey. It’s okay. Scott keeps me on my toes as a human punching bag,” Stiles hurries, wincing when he realizes just how much deeper he’s dug his own grave.

 _Goddamn. I need sleep. Sleep that I’m not going to get._ Stiles hazards a glance at Derek, ready for flashing eyes and pointy teeth, and is surprised at the wounded look he finds there. He seems almost…guilty?

“Sounds like you need to reevaluate your choice of friends,” Argent says evenly, fingers moving deftly across Stiles’ back, searching for injuries.

“Wait. How did you know where we were?” Derek asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Argent glances at Stiles, raising his eyebrows. Stiles winces at a particularly painful poke to his back, looking up at Derek defiantly.

“I called him,” he says firmly, trying to ignore the mixture of betrayal and anger on Derek’s face. “And don’t look so fucking let down, Derek. I didn’t call him because I didn’t trust you, I called him because this _thing_ was in _town._ Not all of Beacon Hills has super wolf powers, you know. And we’re supposed to _work together_ , remember? We _need_ to work together. _All_ of us,” Stiles adds, looking pointedly at Argent. The man’s lips twitch in a fleeting smile, his inspection done.

“I’m finding that recently, we’re not the ones with the answers, Derek,” Argent says, humor in his voice, rising to stand. He replaces his gun at his waist, stretching out a hand. Derek warily takes it, shaking hands before Argent turns to leave. “Take care, Stiles.” Stiles sighs tiredly, dropping an arm uselessly over his eyes. He can feel Derek staring at him.

“Just because I trust him doesn’t mean I don’t trust you, Derek,” Stiles said quietly. “And I don’t have to trust him to know that when it involves innocent people, we _have_ to work together.”

Stiles is met with silence, and he thinks to himself that this is a pretty bad way to die, trying to mend the break between hunter, werewolf, and human.

Instead of teeth at his throat Stiles hears the sound of stretching leather as Derek lowers himself to the ground beside Stiles. For a moment he thinks his ears are making no sense of the echo-y garage, but when he turns his head he finds Derek’s profile right next to him. Derek seems to be searching the ceiling for something and Stiles is reminded of the previous night, when Derek had been staring at the wall in Stiles’ bedroom.

“You’re annoyingly right sometimes, you know that?”

It’s the same deadpan Derek voice with the same poker face, only this time, it’s a compliment. It’s _Derek_ and he’s _complimenting_ him. _Stiles._ Stiles feels a flush on his cheeks that seems to burn and he is immediately glad for the dark. _Why the heck am I feeling so good about this?_

“What, no snarky remark?” Derek asks after a moment of silence, his signature eyebrow-raise gracing his face. Which looks really good in this lighting (or lack of it). _WAIT WHAT._

“Well, no, I have my phone on record- you know, for evidence. And blackmail,” Stiles says, and it isn’t his best work but he was a little bit distracted by the way Derek’s watercolor eyes contain a sudden glow he’s never seen before. He hopes his voice doesn’t sound too breathless.

Derek snorts but it doesn’t sound bad and suddenly Stiles knows he has to get out of here before Derek starts _smelling_ something with his werewolf nose that he really shouldn’t. So Stiles rises quickly, letting out a moan of complaint when his back gives an angry twinge.

Derek rises with a heavy huff, glaring Stiles down in a heartwarming, familiar way. “Don’t move so fast,” he says accusingly, but it isn’t followed by “idiot” or any variant of it, so Stiles can’t help the grin cracking open on his face.

“So I think my badass baseball bat skills deserve a burger,” Stiles says conversationally as they leave the garage.

Derek snorts again.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, guys! This fic has been sitting on my laptop for MONTHS! I totally forgot about it and I practically cried when I found it. This is part of a reimagined season 3B where Stiles has been working with Derek over the summer and their bond alters the nogitsune experience- and everything else. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! R&R!


End file.
